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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23689816">A Feather, A Reminder</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreezingAlyce/pseuds/FreezingAlyce'>FreezingAlyce</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>#SPNStayAtHomeChallenge [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>#SpnStayAtHome | SPN Stay at Home Challenge, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:21:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,274</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23689816</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreezingAlyce/pseuds/FreezingAlyce</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard to tell which of it's real: their normal everyday very strange lives, the illusion of dark magic that feeds on your fears, or the foreign feeling of being happy.<br/>How can Dean ground himself against the hallucinations? What could possibly be meaningful enough to pull him from the overwhelming despair and paranoia?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>#SPNStayAtHomeChallenge [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1720243</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Feather, A Reminder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for <a href="https://helianthus21.tumblr.com/">helianthus21</a>, <a href="https://pray4jensen.tumblr.com/">pray4jensen</a>, and <a href="https://bend-me-shape-me.tumblr.com/post/614472314736836608/things-arent-easy-right-now-we-have-to-stay">bend-me-shape-me's</a> #SPNStayAtHomeChallenge 06/04 Monday 1. Feather.</p><p>Cross posted to <a href="https://deepeststarfishsong.tumblr.com/post/615587703996710912/gentleman">my Tumblr</a>  which is basically a cesspool of angsty typography and love letters to <a href="https://beccawoof.tumblr.com">BeccaWoof</a>.</p><p>A huge thanks to  <a href="https://rottenbananana.tumblr.com">RottenBananana</a> for the beta!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“So, get this...” Sam had said, leaning over the diner table to steal a piece of bacon off Dean’s plate. “Looks like there’s necromancers in Louisiana.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is water wet? Sam, of course there’s necromancers in Louisiana. Eat your own damn food,” Dean replied, jabbing at Sam’s hand with his fork.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No seriously, look at this article.” Sam turned his laptop around to show the web page. “Second Ritualistic Murder Victim Found in Ouachita Parish. You gotta admit, Dean, it sounds like our kinda thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah okay, it’s singing our tune.” Dean looked back at his plate, realizing Sam had taken yet another piece of bacon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the drive from Michigan to Louisiana, Sam read aloud to Dean as they drove. “Looks here like the police found two bodies in two weeks, each only half mummified. It also says that the witness in both murders have been placed on 5150 for ‘unknown disturbances.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh great, that’s just what we need, for every lead on a witch case to be absolutely batshit bananas,” Dean shook his head and flipped on his indicator to pull into an oncoming service station. “I’m gunna swing in here and grab fuel. Grab me a coffee, would ya?” He tossed his wallet to Sam, who slid out of the Impala and headed inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he reached for the door, Dean’s eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Dean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Startled, Dean jumped and hit the horn, causing him to jump again. “Fuck Cas, what the fuck!” Dean shouted, slamming his hand against the dashboard. “We’ve talked about this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My apologies, Dean, but I wanted to keep you apprised of the situation in Louisiana.” Dean noted ruefully that Cas looked anything but surprised. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fucking angels.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What situation, Cas? The bodies?” Dean continued talking to Cas as he stepped out and put his card into the pump. Looking back to the backseat, Cas had disappeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Cas was suddenly next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damnit, Cas!” Dean startled again. “Would you walk like a normal person for the length of a damn conversation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There isn’t time, Dean. We believe it is the work of a necromancer employing bastardized voodoo practices.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well that sounds just lovely. I love my crazy multiplied,” he chuckled to himself and sighed, hanging up the pump. Dean slid back into the driver’s seat and watched as Cas opened the back door and got in with slow exaggerated movements.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does that mean you’re coming with us?” Dean turned in his seat to face Cas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I think that would be prudent.” Cas eyed Dean intensely. “You have not been sleeping,” he added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean scrubbed his face with his hands. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I must look worse off than I thought. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Yeah well, when do I ever?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am concerned about you, Dean,” Cas held his gaze, a thoughtful expression on his face. Dean could see him trace his face with his eyes. Dean felt a tightening in his chest and breathed deep to ground himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here ya go, it’s all they had.” They were interrupted by Sam opening the door and tossing a bottle at Dean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at the glass bottle, Dean grimaced. “This is not coffee. This is a watery milkshake.” He turned the Starbucks bottle over in his hand. “I don’t know if I’m this desperate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring Dean’s whining, Sam turned to the backseat, “Hey Cas. I’d say it’s good to see you but your face says something is wrong.” Cas launched into his explanation of the necromancers and Dean started the car and pulled out onto the highway, navigating them south.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things started turning to shit the moment they pulled into Monroe. They’d no sooner checked into the motel and gone to interview the first responders, when they found their first hex bag. Whoever, whatever, was killing here clearly saw them coming. At the motel, Sam swept the room finding two more hex bags to add to the pile they’d found crammed in the undercarriage of the Impala. He pulled up the metal waste basket, tossed them in, and dropped a match over the top. “I guess we’re going to need to be more proactive,” he announced to the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas absentmindedly paced the room, drawing sigils on the walls in red chalk as he muttered to himself in Enochian. “Yes, we need to have a plan in place. The combination of voodoo ritual and necromancy spells has the potential to be quite dangerous.” Cas looked over at his shoulder at the boys. Sam running the smoldering ash under the bathroom faucet and Dean field stripping his handgun. “I will stay tonight; in case they attempt to return while you sleep.” His eyes flicked to Dean, who stared back looking a little stunned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where ya gunna sleep, Cas? It’s not like these flops have sofas,” Dean looked around at the two double beds and pair of spindly chairs in the kitchenette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, I do not require sleep. But perhaps I will watch television to occupy my time. I have been without it for some time now,” Cas responded without looking at Dean, carefully adding details to a sigil on the back of the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After dinner, they piled in the Impala and drove out to the second crime scene. The investigator had been shifty when they’d asked to see the scene and changed the subject several times before outright walking out of the conversation. As they approached, Dean killed the headlights and rolled down the window. “There, where they have the flag placed,” he pointed to a grassy spot in the clearing, just south of the park’s jungle gym.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam and Dean got out of the car and flipped on flash lights to see the path. Cas followed behind, silent on his feet except for the sound of his coat shifting in the breeze. As they approached the marked location, Cas yelled “Dean, watch out!” but it was too late. Dean looked down to see his foot atop a symbol burned into the grass.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Aw fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he meant to say aloud. What came out was a guttural cry. He fell to his knees, face and hands burning with fire that he could not see. And suddenly he was back in hell, ribcage still split from the Hellhounds. His mind raced with panic and pain. “You’re a murder,” voices rang out. “You’re the reason they all died.” He couldn’t see where they came from. “They trusted you.” “You were too slow, too dumb.” “You’re the reason we’re dead.” “No one should trust you.” “You can’t trust anyone.” “Who the hell would be dumb enough to trust you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean pulled at his own hair, gasping trying to catch his breath against the pain of fire and the chaos of the voices. He tried to stand and fell, the paranoia sinking in. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m a murderer. I’m the reason they’ve all died. I’m the reason no one stays. Sam doesn’t trust me. How could I ever trust Bobby? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dean’s mind filled with images: Jo and Ellen eviscerated by Hellhounds and bomb shrapnel, his dad-soul splayed open on the rack, Sam possessed and bleeding, Cas lying motionless on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean?! Damnit, Dean?!” a voice echoed through the noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt a hand on his shoulder, strong and steady. “Dean, it’s okay,” Cas’ voice cut through the hallucination. Behind him, Sam chanted “Hi ignes prohibere ne gemitus. Fiat haec daemoniaco generaliter prohibere ignes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean fell backward into the cool grass, gasping for air. “Fuck, I hate this voodoo shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <b>--</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Back at the motel, the three had bantered about the case, laptops open and the table covered in xeroxed copies of mythology texts. Sam had been giving him hell, calling him a luddite while he fought with the computer. Cas had been absorbed into a book, translating out loud as Sam took notes. Everything felt so normal, calm even.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Sam started yawning, Dean kicked him under the table. "Go the fuck to bed, dude. You'll be useless tomorrow if you don't get your four hours."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Naw, I'm good," Sam said through another full yawn. He looked back at his notes, squinting. "Yeah, okay, maybe I will crash out for a while."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Sam closed the door to the bathroom and they could hear the tap running, Cas looked up at Dean. "You also need the opportunity to sleep, Dean." He caught Dean's eye and they sat for a second, everything too quiet. Dean sat transfixed and held his breath, afraid to move. They snapped out of it when Sam opened the door and threw himself onto the closest bed. "I'm not quite ready to call it yet," Dean said more to the room than to Cas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They'd turned off the extra lights for Sam, leaving on the small side lamp in the kitchenette. It did little more than illuminate the counter and the edge of the table and Dean quickly gave up on reading. "Hey man, you want a beer?" he asked, holding up two bottles out of the mini fridge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, thank you," Cas replied, reaching for the bottle. Dean nodded but pulled it back just out of reach, leaving Cas' hand in the air. He pulled his keys from his pocket, used the side of one to pop the cap, and walked it over to Cas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"These necromancy cases always get me," he found himself saying. "Something always goes bad, real bad." Dean took a long pull from the bottle and looked across the room at his brother's sleeping form. The careful rise and fall of the comforter reassured him. Dean had spent the better part of the last thirty years making sure that Sammy was safe, that he was home at night, that he was able to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looked back to Cas, seated opposite of him at the little round table. Their room had a tiny kitchenette, barely large enough for one grown man, let alone three. But Dean was grateful for a chance to cook his own damn food. He nursed his beer, leaning an arm on the table, careful not to knock over the line of empties they had formed earlier. Dean watched as Cas delicately held the bottle, fingers cradling the glass while he worried at the peeling label with his thumb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, historically we have not had favorable results with these types of magics."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That’s an understatement," Dean said, thoughts flashing back to the two college kids they hadn't been able to save last year. They'd died bloody. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should have been faster. They didn't have to die.</span>
  </em>
  <span> "The paranoia part gets to me too easily. Probably because I'm already pretty damn paranoid."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas nodded in silent agreement. "It can be difficult to stay grounded when you feel unable to trust the few individuals you have faith in. Necromancy is very powerful magic. It purposefully plays on your deepest, most repressed fears. As someone who shares very little of his internal experience with others, you may be especially susceptible to its effects."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean had to agree with that. He didn't tell people what bothered him, what kind of shit he worried about. He couldn't afford those types of weaknesses. But Cas was right- it made it easier for the spell to take over. Last time they'd faced a necromancy priest, he'd fallen into a death spiral of self-loathing and fear that he couldn't trust Sam or Bobby. Like he needed any more issues than he already had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have read," Cas interrupted Dean's thoughts, "that having a talisman of sorts can steady the mind against these types of spells."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What kind of talisman?" Dean looked up again, catching Cas' gaze.</span>
  <em>
    <span> He's staring again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Something endowed with meaning just to you, something that you can physically hold to remind yourself of what is real and true." Cas' stare was intense. Dean couldn't bring himself to look away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They'd had so many of these moments in the last few years, but they took Dean by surprise each time. Knowing looks, loaded silences, feeling too hot when they were in close quarters. Dean spent a lot of energy trying not to think about these moments. He was sure he was reading too much into things, that Cas' bizarre social skills were the only explanation. He'd be damned if he'd ever ruin the best friendship he'd ever had over </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanting.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hell, it had taken him nearly a year of self-loathing and drinking to even admit to himself that he might </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> more than friendship from Cas. Sam may give him hell for his downstairs brain controlling his upstairs brain, but Dean wasn't that stupid. Cas meant too much for him to risk letting him know. He didn't think he'd be able to handle losing Cas when he didn't return his feelings. But then there were moments like these, where he felt they were playing a game of chicken with bigger consequences than getting hit by the train.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean forced himself to look away, staring at his hands as a loss for what else to do. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A talisman? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He didn't have many earthly attachments: his necklace, his car, some odds and ends in his bag. Nothing that was transportable, nothing both small and irreplaceable, and certainly nothing that didn't have one negative memory or another attached to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm honestly not sure what I'd use as a talisman," he thought out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that Cas reached over and took his hand. Dean jumped slightly, but Cas merely squeezed his hand. When he pulled away there was a small grey feather left in his palm. "Maybe this?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Dean could think of what to say, Cas stood up, straightened out his coat, and said, "Goodnight, Dean." and zapped out of the motel room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Dean woke, the first thing he saw was Cas’ form at the end of his bed, sitting up with his back straight, hands folded neatly in his lap while he watched a morning talk show.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You came back,” Dean said, groggy and hoarse from sleep. “I thought you’d skipped off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you I planned to stay. I had worried that I was keeping you from sleep and you have been experiencing insomnia as of late.” There was that concerned expression again. Dean couldn’t make heads nor tails of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Insomnia’s nothing to lose sleep over,” Dean chuckled to himself and made an overly exaggerated stretch. The sound of the shower pulled his attention away. It wasn’t often that Sammy beat him awake. Normally the nightmares were an efficient alarm clock. That and every noise in the general vicinity. But he’d slept better than usual, and felt rested even. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Weird.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The day would continue to get weird as hell. When they entered the coroner’s office, Sam felt a cold chill and reached for his gun. Dean followed suit and they walked back to back into the room. The door clicked shut behind them and the lights cut out. In the pitch black, every sound echoed off the stainless-steel walls disorienting them. Dean could hear chanting from a distance but was unable to identify the source. A crash followed and he shouted for Sam, with no response. Dean pulled at his waistband for his flashlight. He managed to switch it on in time to see eyes flash red in front of him. He swung his light around, to see his Sam bleeding on the floor. He ran to his side feeling for a pulse, eyes darting behind him looking for whatever it was. “Fuck, Sammy, answer me!” he screamed. Sam didn’t move. Dean swung the light beam around the room frantically looking for the exit. He paused, panicked at the form of a slumped body, cloaked in a trench coat and blood. “God, Cas no!” Sobbing, Dean pulled at the lining of his jacket trying to get the pocket open. He clutched at a small grey feather. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This isn’t real.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean ran to him, but before he could get across the room, a piercing light cut through the darkness. Dean turned, shielding his eyes from the light. Dean looked up at Cas, glowing warm and bright, chanting in Enochian, Sam by his side, reading from a leatherbound book. “Dean, it was not real.” Behind him, Dean could hear shrieking as the eyes faded from the darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean could still hear his blood pumping in his ears, the acrid taste of adrenaline keeping the fear alive. He pushed off of the hood of the Impala and stormed into the motel room in search of his flask. Sam stepped forward to follow him, but Cas held a hand up. “Let me speak with him, Sam.” Sam nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah okay, I’m going to go run this day off.” Sam pulled his shoes out of the back of the car and pulled at the laces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dean, you need to relax." Cas' hand came from behind, firm on his shoulder. Dean jumped; hands fisted so tight his knuckles blanched. Spinning around, Dean stepped back into the table, knocking it against the wall and glass bottles to crash on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't fucking sneak up on me!" He could hear himself shouting but it felt like a blur. Eyes wild, he looked at Cas, barely able to focus on his words. "Fuck," he shouted, turning to punch the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas stood immobile, rooted in place, a look of quiet worry written on his face. "Dean, it’s over now. There's nothing more you could have done."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whirling back around, Dean meant to set Cas straight, to scream, to make him understand that this was his fault. Dean had been too slow, too weak. He did this. He stepped into Cas' space so fast he wasn't sure what he'd planned to do. He grabbed Cas by the coat, knuckles white as they flexed. But when he caught eyes with Cas he crumbled. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean pulled Cas in by the lapels of his coat and crashed their mouths together. To silence the panicking voice in his head, Dean tipped his head until he could deepen the kiss, still desperate and harsh. He could still feel the pit in his stomach and feel the fear that Cas was dead. Cas stood frighteningly still, hands at his sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Dean came to his senses and started to pull away, ready to run and hide or take an angel-strength punch, Cas snapped into motion, grabbing him by the arms, hands overlapping the sacred print just under his shirt sleeve, and roughly pulled them back together. When Cas kissed him, Dean's brain malfunctioned--too overloaded with stress, panic, and all-out fear. Dean held on to Cas' coat like a lifeline as Cas' arms held him tight, fingers gripping into his muscles, and his tongue hungrily explored his mouth. Dean finally managed to collect himself when he heard the small, helpless noise that had clearly come from him. Cas slid one hand up around the side of his neck, holding him steady, tipping his head just enough to allow Cas to kiss him a little deeper, less rushed but with enough heat to make Dean lightheaded. His other hand gave a final squeeze to the scar, leaving a warmth in its wake and slid down his side and snaked across his back pressing him closer by the small of his back. Dean tightened his grip on Castiel’s coat and leaned in to the kiss, running his tongue along the seam of Cas' mouth. He let out another desperate noise as Cas gave him entrance and simultaneously slid his thigh between Dean's legs, trapping him against his study form with his hand at his waist. “Fuck, Cas,” Dean moaned into his neck. Cas made a pleased noise and nosed at the bolt of Dean’s jaw, biting small kisses along the line of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean wasn’t sure when they moved across the room, but he could feel the frame of the bed against his knees. Cas released him just long enough to push Dean back against the bed. Taking the hint, Dean slid back on the mattress and propped himself up on his elbows. Cas straddled his hips, running his hands under Dean’s shirt, sliding up against his chest. Dean let out a small moan, the tight anxiety in his limbs quickly relaxing. Cas leaned in and kissed him again, slower, taking his time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were dead,” Dean pulled back finally to look Cas in the eye. “Sam was dead. You were dead. And it happened so quickly I couldn’t do anything. But I knew it was my fault.” Dean let out a small sob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Dean. I am right here. I am okay. Sam is okay,” Cas reassured him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean leaned in for another kiss, still feeling a little frantic. Cas closed the gap, and ran his hands around the back of Dean's head, carding his fingers through his hair. Dean let himself go, relaxing into Cas’ hands and feeling the brush of his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looked up catching Cas’ eyes, staring intensely but with a soft expression. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh god, what did I do.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dean froze, panicking. He’d gotten too lost in his own head. He’d fucked it all up. What had he done?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh, Dean. Breathe. I have you,” Cas whispered. “You’re not going to frighten me off.” Dean’s eyes widened. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This isn’t real, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought. Dean scrambled for his pocket, pulling the feather out and squeezed it tight in his fist, feeling the softness against his fingers and the hard line of the quill in the crease of his palm. He steadied himself and leaned back against the bed pulling Cas down on top of him. Cas responded with an animalistic sound, deep in his chest that Dean felt as much as he heard. Cas rocked his hips, putting pressure on Dean’s cock and sending an electric jolt up through his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cas-</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>-please do that again,” Dean moaned into Cas’ collar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I seem to enjoy hearing that you want me,” Cas gritted out. “I disliked seeing you frightened. I would rather see you in rapture,” he smiled as mouthed at Deans neck, hips grinding down against him. Cas pulled back, sitting up and pulled at his necktie and shucked off his coat and jacket. Dean followed him and grasped at the buttons of his dress shirt. Cas busied himself with nipping at Dean’s neck and pulling at the hem of his shirt. Dean freed Cas of his shirt and pulled his arms out of the way long enough for his shirt to go over his head. Dean rolled them over onto their sides and went about undoing buttons and zippers, allowing them both to kick their pants free. </span>
  <span>Cas' hand was slid from his hip down to curve over his cock. Dean’s breath caught and at the pressure. And he threw an arm around Cas’ shoulders, bringing him closer. Cas squeezed a little, then stroked Dean up and down, running his thumb along the slit. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do this,” Cas whispered into the corner of Dean’s mouth. Dean whined in response. Cas gave him a single chaste kiss then tilted his head to look down at his work. He stroked Dean up and down again, making a soft, pleased noise when Dean's hips twitched up, chasing after the pressure. Dean canted his hips forward, desperate for more-- more pressure, more warmth, more Cas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas laughed as Dean’s frustrated protests elongated into exasperated breaths. Dean pulled his hand away from Cas’ back and untangled himself enough to trace the lines of his ribcage down to his hips. Dean wasn’t sure what he’d expected from this moment. He’d imagined it every way he could think, but the feel of his hand gripping Cas’ cock and sliding firmly down the length of him nearly made Dean come undone. Cas rutted into Dean’s grip, chanting his name over and over again. Dean could hardly handle it. He went to protest when Cas batted his hand out of the way but was quickly silenced when Cas lined himself up and took them both in hand, making long firm strokes that sped up with each thrust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cas, fuck. I, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Dean gave up trying to help and let his head fall back on the bed and choked back another moan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Cas growled. “I want to hear you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean whimpered and cursed. “Cas, I’m close.” Cas sped up his pace and kissed Dean firm, tongue running along the inside of his mouth, earning an unstifled moan. Dean could feel his cock swell and his balls tighten. He came hard, Cas’ name on his lips, and Cas stroked him through it murmuring contested noises. Dean leaned in, pushed Cas’ hand aside and wrapped his hand around cas, slick with his own cum. Cas came shouting Dean’s name without reservation. The streetlight outside dimmed and sparked and he collapsed against Dean’s chest, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean nudged at Cas’ mouth for a kiss and tangled their legs together. He moved the arm he was laying on and slid it under Cas’ neck, wrapping him closer. In his hand, Dean could feel the contrast of soft and firm-holding on to his feather, reminding him that it had all been real. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam rounded the corner and jogged up towards the motel parking lot. The sounds of shouting had sent him running for his weapon in the Impala, but the sparks from the streetlight blowing out seemed like a pretty clear indication that he wanted no business with what was happening in that room. Sighing, he turned around and went into the office to ask for a second room.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Between a case of low-grade cabin fever and deep unabiding desire to get into some kind of trouble, I seem to have plenty of energy and motivation to write.<br/>Whatever, I'll take it.</p><p>Good luck on quarantine, kids. Wash your damn hands. And if you need a mask, message me, I'll sew and mail you one.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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